


Trophy

by ParaphernaliaWagon



Category: Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors
Genre: M/M, Naughty language, Toilet humor, Underage Drinking, awful teenage yautja sex comedy, but there's no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 18:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParaphernaliaWagon/pseuds/ParaphernaliaWagon
Summary: The [skulls'] jaws flopped loosely as he held one in each hand like a puppet. He maneuvered them together into a kiss, turning one skull at a slight angle. “It must have looked sort of like this. See? Their snouts wouldn’t get in the way.”





	Trophy

“You really want to break into your father’s trophy room? After we already broke into his liquor cabinet? I wouldn’t. He’s going to be so angry.”

“Don’t worry. We’re not going to touch anything. Just look around. He’ll never know.”

“You can’t say the same about all the c’ntlip we drank. Especially the stuff we spilled on the floor. There’s still a stain there.”

“I _told _you to let me worry about that later. Come on. Look!” As they stepped into the modest trophy chamber, the lights automatically switched on one by one, illuminating each skull on the wall. Carver gestured to them proudly with a dramatic sweep of his arm, as if he had killed them himself.

“Very impressive,” Tyr said in a low, sarcastic purr. “My father has a kainde amedha skull just like that. _Everyone _does. In fact, I think my father’s is bigger. And when we kill one ourselves, we’ll have all the time in the world to look at it. Why’d you even bring me in here?” He glanced contemptuously at the long alien skull in the center of the display, then at Carver.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss! Hey!” Carver mumbled goofily, swaying a bit on his feet, as an amusing thought appeared to suddenly enter his c’ntlip-fogged brain. “Do you know _why_ the kainde amedha is the most dangerous beast in the universe?”

“What the fuck do you mean, _why_? They’ve got acid for blood, dumbass!”

“No, I mean do you know why they’re so bad-tempered all the time. Why my dad says they are, anyway.”

“Fine, why are they so bad-tempered, according to the infinite wisdom of your father?”

“Because…” Carver struggled to complete the sentence, beside himself with clicking laughter. “Because they have no assholes, and they can’t shit!” He nearly collapsed on the floor, mandibles clicking so rapidly Tyr almost thought he would dislocate his jaw. Tyr just stood there, arms crossed, glaring at him.

“Fine.” Carver finally seemed to realize this subject wasn’t going to get a laugh out of his friend. “Want to know what _else_ my father told me?” He sidled toward a human skull a bit lower down on the wall, its lovingly polished cranial dome and mostly-complete dentition glinting in the light.

“What?”

“He saw an ooman dig a hole and shit in it once.”

“Oh, really? What did the shit look like?”

“Like shit. Brown shit.”

“How exciting.”

“That’s not all. You’re not going to believe this, but he also saw two oomans doing the nasty.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

“No! Really!” Carver paused, attempting to remember the whole story as his father had told it to him. “This ooman—” he indicated the skull, “was part of an army marching cross-country on their way to fight another army.”

“Of oomans?”

“Of course, idiot. What else would they be fighting?”  
“I don’t know. What were they fighting about?”

“How would I know? Anyway, my father had been tracking them for weeks, hoping to lure one away where he could get it alone. One night this one—” he pointed at the skull again, “snuck off into a copse of trees with a female noncombatant who was traveling with the army. They had several of those with them, apparently.”

“Why?”

“For sex. Also, you know how oomans like to wear fiber coverings all over their bodies? These noncombatants would wash those. And they’d sometimes serve as medics, bring the soldiers water and do various other work for them.”

“The soldiers couldn’t be bothered to keep their own belongings clean? Disgusting.”

“Well, these oomans were pretty low-tech. This was a while ago. They had firearms, but even more primitive ones than they have now. They had to wash everything by hand, and it was a pretty laborious process from what I understand.”

“Anyway, your dad saw two oomans… uh…” Tyr gesticulated awkwardly. “… fucking?”

“Yeah!”

“Do their… uh… naughty bits… you know… look like ours?”

“Yeah, except they have some of that weird ooman fur on them. But that’s not the _really interesting _part.”

“It’s not?”

“No! He said…” Carver paused for dramatic effect. “They were mashing their mouths together! You know those weird fleshy mouthparts oomans have covering their teeth?” He indicated the skull’s mouth. “What are those called?”  
“Lips, I think.”

“Yeah! They mashed their lips together.”

“Now I _know_ you’re making this up. How could they do that? Their snouts would get in the way. You know they have those weird fleshy protuberances over here?” Tyr traced the shape of a human nose with his finger in the air above the skull’s nasal opening.

“All I know is what my dad told me. Are you calling him a liar?”

“Well… no… I just…”

“Wait. Look.” Carver grabbed the human skull off the wall, then a second one that was hanging nearby. Both had intact lower jaws attached at the hinges. The jaws flopped loosely as he held one in each hand like a puppet. He maneuvered them together into a kiss, turning one skull at a slight angle. “It must have looked sort of like this. See? Their snouts wouldn’t get in the way.”

“Fine. I guess not. Put those back before you break them.”

Carver sat down on the floor and made the skulls kiss some more, clearly enjoying himself. Tyr sat down next to him, looking at first merely resigned to his friend’s nonsense, but then watching with increasing fascination.

“Seriously. You should really be careful with those.”

Carver reluctantly but gently reached up to put each skull back in its place. “I think my dad also has some fur from this ooman,” he said, indicating the first skull. “He let me touch it once. It was so soft you wouldn’t believe.” He looked around, noticing some drawers set in the wall he had been leaning against, below the display of skulls. He pressed hard on the front of it and it popped open. “It’s right here! I can’t believe he doesn’t keep this locked.” He removed a bundle of hair from the drawer, a thick ponytail of brown curls. “Here.” Tyr ran the hair through his fingers, a look of reverent awe on his face. “Wow. That is really soft.” He admired the way the curl sprang back to its original shape after he gently tugged on it.

“So.” He looked thoughtful. “They like to press their mouths together. Their… what are they called again? Lips?”

“Yeah. It must feel good, or else why would they do it?”

“Do you want to… uh… you know… try it, maybe?”

“What, you mean… us? But we don’t have lips.”

Tyr looked pointedly at Carver. “But we could still… try. Just to see what it feels like.”

Carver considered a moment. “Yes!” He took the lock of hair from Tyr and carefully laid it in the drawer exactly as it had been.

He placed his hands on Tyr’s shoulders and began to press their faces close together.

“Do they look into each other’s eyes while they do it?”

“I guess they must.”

“I think I can understand that part. I like looking at your eyes. They’re like beautiful golden suns,” Tyr said, feeling suddenly poetic.

“I like your eyes, too. They’re… uh… brown.”

Carver wrapped his lower mandibles around Tyr’s. Their teeth clinked together.

“This feels weird.”

Tyr said something unintelligible.

“What?”

“I think we’re stuck,” Tyr said, muffled.

Their mandibles wriggled awkwardly, trapped, producing the occasional quietly discordant clinking sound as they both attempted to laugh. Slowly they unhooked themselves on one side, and the other quickly followed.

They looked at each other for a silent split second, then collapsed on the floor in rapidly clicking giggles.

“Let’s not do that again,” said Tyr.

“It was _your _silly idea,” said Carver.

“Can we please just get out of here and clean up the stain on the floor before your father gets home?”

**Author's Note:**

> The unfortunate human who was spotted doing the nasty with a camp follower may or may not have been fighting in the Thirty Year's War (1618-1648), one of the most destructive conflicts in human history. However, his nationality is unknown.


End file.
